


All You Never Say

by Sara1893



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara1893/pseuds/Sara1893
Summary: Sometimes she almost preferred the way Sherlock treated her than the way Mycroft is making her feel
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 6
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story basically something that I wrote while listening to All You Never Say by Birdy on repeat. Hope that you enjoy!

Molly's hands are shaking as she closes the door to her flat. She fumbled with the door locks all newly installed including the doorknob after her paranoia with Jim Moriarty. After everything that happens today, perhaps three door locks are a bit of overkill because despite what Sherlock told her, she didn’t count. No one will really look at her which is not really surprising. Plain, quiet mousy Molly.

Squaring her shoulder, she walks towards her kitchen and busies herself with making tea.

Enough with self-pity, tomorrow, she will wake up and write her autopsy report on Sherlock, and she will be ok.

She will move on.

She will be ok

* * *

She went to the funeral dressed in a simple black dress that reaches her knees and feels like a sham. Black dress for the black lies because whoever they buried under there is not Sherlock. The weight of the lie lay heavy in her chest, and she cried for herself and for all others that are hurting from the lie. She cried when she caught a look at John and Ms Hudson and feel all more horrible by the lie that she help to paint.

It was drizzling as the funeral adjourned and Mycroft offered her his umbrella. His presence at the funeral paints a more believable story to the deception that they orchestra. She accepted the offer to share the umbrella and his offer to drive her home.

Later in her flat, they shared a cup of tea in silence.

His present soothed her.

* * *

Somehow when Sherlock ‘jumped’ to his death, the world must have tilted in their axis. She found herself more often than not in the present of Mycroft. He would always drop by after her shift in her flat and always with some news from his ‘brother dear’.

Perhaps it’s something that Sherlock made him promise to do. When she asked him on the reason, he replied to her with one of his cryptic smiles before helping himself with another mini blueberry tart that she made earlier.

Remembering one of Sherlock tirade on how the universe is rarely so lazy, she can only conclude that Mycroft is there in her apartment to send his message from his brother and sample whatever she made that evening. Because if nothing else, Mycroft timing always matches the timing where she just finished cooking or baking.

Anything more complicated than that is too taxing for her to consider. Especially after her work hour.

“More tea Mr Holmes?”

“Yes please, Dr Hooper.”

* * *

Along the way, Mr Holmes become Mycroft and Dr Hooper becomes Molly dear, and she is beyond terrified to think what it means.

“Are you a high functioning sociopath too? Like Sherlock?” she found herself asking him as she busies herself in the kitchen and him helping her to set the table.

After eight months they fall under a new normal. She stops cooking for one after the third time he dropped by during dinner or lunch whichever time she has the time off. She also stops grocery shopping after finding out that he had someone brought the grocery and put it in place when she is off to work. She had gotten good enough to guess what he wanted to have for lunch or dinner by checking her pantry. Today is spaghetti Bolognese. As she is not knackered by today’s work, she treats herself with homemade meatballs.

“Is that what he’s calling himself?” he asked amusedly as he served the dishes and he looks kind, almost dashing with his eyes creased with his good humour.

Later as they sat at the sofa, her legs curled under her; a mug of tea in her hand watching telly together she wonders what does this mean.

* * *

“- she had the gall to tell me that since I’m single anyway, I can pull the double shift for her. How dare she said that to me? It’s not as if I’m unwilling to help her, but this is the fifth time she pulled this last-minute change of schedule on me and I had postponed my appointment with my dentist three times!” flushing with indignant and embarrassment by the end of her rant when she finally remembers who she is talking too, she quickly looks down toward the oven; pretending to be busily checking the chocolate cake.

Mycroft, however, was obvious or pretending to be obvious with her conflicted feeling as he moved around the kitchen preparing tea. “Why yes, I’m quite familiar with this kind of personnel. Before Anthea, my PA was as incompetent, to say the least. Honestly, I’m glad to be rid of her. Do you want me to do the same with this Ms Wayne? I could arrange for her transfer.”

Unsure of how serious Mycroft is, she quickly rejected his help. Somehow the warmth in her chest which has nothing to do with her earlier indignant and embarrassment bloom and enveloping her. Her mouth curves into a small smile.

Before he went back to his house that night, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Mycroft for the offer. Truly.”

And later that night, she falls asleep with a smile on her lips and her lips tingling from the kiss she gave him.

* * *

It was raining when he told her that he would be going away to help Sherlock. Although his words were something along the line of ‘off to pick up an errant puppy. He has been playing too long in the Sun’ she understood him perfectly.

Cold irrational fear grips her heart.

For whom she was unsure.

Before he left, she kissed him; hoping and praying to whatever god above that he will be back to her safe. And when he returned her kiss, she found her tears falling because she most likely had fallen for a different Holmes.

* * *

Waiting without news as Molly recently discover is a different kind of torture. She found herself turning to look around every time she heard the generic ringtone that Mycroft used, wishing to herself that it’s him just around the corner; finally back to London ready to be busy manufacturing whatever plan he needed to make just as he usually did in her kitchen after cake or dinner.

When he came to her flat that night, she could feel whatever grip that hold her heart unfolded. His eyes, however, was cold as he told her in a clipped voice of Sherlock status. “Hello, Molly dear. I’m just dropping by to tell you that Sherlock is back. You must be glad.”

Feeling defensive, she curled into herself, hunching over. She was so sure that she had got rid of that habit a year after Sherlock’s ‘death’. “Oh. I guess you won’t be coming here again then?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you have no more need to see me right?” she answered quickly. Her tone took her by surprise. She never heard herself sound so cold. Even at the worst Sherlock ever made her feel, she never uses that tone when speaking.

The silent after broke the dam in her and she found herself babbling. “I mean, isn't that the reason for your visits? To tell me the update on Sherlock. And to make sure I didn’t blab about his death. It’s not as if you care about me right? And that kissed before you left was because I look pitiful am I not? You were being kind to me.”

Because that is all she ever was. A person only remembers when there is used for her. She must be a glutton for punishment jumping from crushing at Sherlock to his brother only to find herself with a broken heart again. Sometimes she almost preferred the way Sherlock treated her than the way Mycroft is making her feel. With Sherlock, his lack of tack with her feelings and his string of verbal abuse keep her grounded. She is always aware of what he thought of her, however, lacking it is. Mycroft however, was kinder but distance enough to make her wonder and despite herself, she found herself hoping that he might feel the same. Nonetheless, she’s tried to get her heartbroken again. Scared to drop her guard and show her heart. Life had been unkind too many times to her in love.

“Sorry, I must not be making any sense to you. I, I…” She found herself unable to continue. Looking at him, standing in his grey three-piece suit, his eyes unreadable and almost sad; she feels her breath caught in her throat.

Perhaps he thought of her like a starving kitten. Feed her, be kind to her but no matter how hard she tries she would always remain outside the house. Never inside the house. Because she is still a stray, and he had no intention of adopting the stray into the house to be part of the family.

The thought is enough for her to continue her words. “I’m not you Mycroft. I… I can’t deduce the way you feel by the way you… you hold my hand, or… or the way you smile or… or whatever pollen that my blouse might carry. If only I could look into your mind maybe then I'd find a sign that… that perhaps you might love me and you want me as much as I want you.”

She was horrified that by the end of her tirade she was crying, tears dropping from her eyes one by one. But at that moment she couldn’t even find the strength in her to raise up her hands and wipe the tears away. She passed the point of caring about what kind of folly she is showing him; her heart bleeding and raw and aching. Because she had been strong for so, so long and she thinks it’s about time for her to be kind to herself in return and allow herself this moment of weakness.

Slowly she closed her eyes for no matter what she told herself, the pain that she saw in his eyes is still too much for her to take.

Slowly he breathed out, “Oh Molly” ever so softly he whispered out her name before bending down; his hands, his warm hands cupping her face gently as he kissed her. The kiss was gentle and he was so very careful with her as if he can’t believe that he is kissing her. Slowly he pulled away, his breath on her cheek, his lips lightly brushing hers.

“Of course I love you, Molly Hooper.”

Envelope with his warm scent, his hands still cradling her face her lips that he just kissed broke into a smile.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he had been waiting all along to hear that from her too. Because regardless of how intelligent he is, they are all afraid to show their heart.


	2. Chapter 2

“Helen. We decided to name her Helen. Helen Aster Holmes.”

Holding his niece, Sherlock looks into the tiny face. She favoured her mother in her look, but the colouring is all Mycroft. At two months, Helen’s had thick ginger curls and light grey eyes which according to mummy something that Helen shared with baby Mycroft. “Helen, Mycroft? Daughter softens you. Thank god she takes after Molly in look. I shudder to think of how hideous she will grow up to be if she took after you. Her name will be a mockery for her.”

Rolling his eyes, he took in the sleeping face of his daughter. “Hardly Sherlock. Her name is just a reminder that I will launch a thousand ships just for her.”

"How cliché.”

“Molly thinks it is sweet.”

Snorting, Sherlock retorts back unamused. “Please, Molly thinks everything you did is sweet! She marries you! Just the other day she told me your snore is the cutest thing she had ever heard!”

Feeling pleased with himself, he adjusted his sleeves. “Did she?”

“Please Mycroft doesn’t make me puke.”

Reaching out his hands, he gestured for the baby in Sherlock's hand. “While you do that, you can perhaps hand back my daughter to my brother dear.”

Sherlock’s face soured before he quickly turned around, giving his back to his elder brother. “No Mycroft, I just hold her. You have been keeping her to yourself for two months! Mummy was very cross with you. Not only that, you won’t even allow Oswald to come and visit mummy.”

“I told you, Helen was too small for any long distance journey and heaven know what kind of germs your hands carry. Too much risk. And I can hardly allow Oswald to visit Mummy without Molly. You know how attached he is to Molly. I only allow you to come today because Molly made me.”

Turning back around, he raised his eyebrows; almost amused at the petulant look on his brother’s face. “Can’t say no to her, did you? From the moment she proposed to you until this day you still can’t say no to her.” Sherlock paused before smirking “Oh, how the great Mycroft Holmes has fallen.”

* * *

_Five years ago_

He took notice of her at his brother ‘funeral’ looking so miserable and helpless that she looks perfectly blended in among John Watson and Mrs Hudson. She looked lost, tears streaking down her face. She took no notice of the tears, too busy to grip John’s and Mrs Hudson’s hand in her own. He kept his distance knowing that John Watson is not feeling too kindly toward him at the moment.

After the funeral, she was left alone after pleading that she needs to be alone, he approached her. Opening his umbrella, he stepped closer towards her. She wrinkled her nose at the lit cigarette in his hand but say nothing of it. He took in the way her shoulder drop, the puffy red around her eyes and feel a twinge of pity in him.

“Let’s go, Dr Hooper, I’ll drop you at your flat.”

She invited him in for tea. He stayed for her Victoria sandwich.

* * *

It was Friday when he dropped by her flat with the latest news from Sherlock. She was cooking, her hair was in disarray even despite the ponytail.

Giving him a nervous smile, she stepped aside from the door; allowing him into her home. “Oh, hi Mr Holmes.”

Closing the door, he stepped in the flat; taking in the tidy space and the smell of chicken roasting in the oven. He can feel his stomach rumbling at the smell. Damn the PM for making him missed his lunch today. Looking down at her face, hopeful face, he remembered his reason for being in the flat. “Good evening Dr Hooper. I’m just dropping by to tell you that our mutual acquaintance is safe at his destination.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear it”

Silence filled awkwardly after her reply. Before he could excuse himself, his stomach gives a loud rumble. For the first time in a long time, Mycroft feels mortified with himself, and he could feel himself redden. Dr Hooper, however, has more tact than his brother for which she quickly steps away from him towards the kitchen and busies herself with setting the table for two. “I hope you can stay and have dinner with me today Mr Holmes. I misjudge myself and cooked extra.”

That night pasta with roasted chicken was delicious. Before he went back, she shyly handed him the leftover roasted chicken breast and salad.

“Um, you can have it as your lunch tomorrow. You can add in some toast and have it as a sandwich.” And he didn’t have it in him to reject the offer as he can see the tension in her shoulder and the tight grip that she has on the container which tells him of her apprehension. Remembering how harsh Sherlock used to act around her, he relaxed his shoulder and fixed a small grateful smile on his face.

“Thank you, Dr Hooper. I shall have it as my lunch tomorrow.”

The next day after he exhausted himself explaining an elementary solution to the imbecile who called himself the PM he felt cheered when he caught sight of the Tupperware containing his lunch.

Well, if nothing else, at least today he won’t go throughout his day without his lunch.

* * *

Perhaps he is very similar to a stray kitten for he found himself more often than not at Dr Hooper’s flat after the so-called ‘free dinner’ for more of her baked goods and home cook dinner. Feed him once, and he will come again and again for food. Anthea had in her none too subtle way remind him not to be a freeloader and just for that, he send her to go shopping for Dr Hooper’s grocery. In her almost amused tone she asked him what he wants for dinner. After answering lamb, he continued with his work.  
  
That night when he dropped by with Sherlock short notes that he is now in Islamabad, he felt almost pleased with the rack of lamb that Molly prepared for him. Before he left that night after washing the dishes as thanks for Molly had outdone herself again with dinner, he accepted her Tupperware of tomorrow lunch and her soft smile. The warm feeling in his chest however has nothing to do with the spice that Molly used in cooking the lamb.

* * *

The next two weeks were hectic for him as some cocky young agent had blabbed a secret operation in a pub after getting slosh. Despite the minor leak as the agent only had a trifling role in the operation, the cleaning up was messy and Mycroft needs to do the ‘legwork’ himself to contain the damage. Just for that, he lost seven pounds due to missed dinner and lunch.

When he visited Molly that night after the ‘cleaning up’, he took in the way her eyes light up at seeing him in her living room and the way her lips break into a smile. “Hello, Mycroft. Would you like some tea? I made some blueberry and strawberry tarts last weekend.”

With that, he found the tension in his shoulder ease, and he smiled back at her. “Yes. I would like to have some tea please Molly dear.”

* * *

He had no news from Sherlock that night, nonetheless, he found himself standing at the door of Molly’s flat wondering what he is doing there at nine thirty-two pm. It is too late for any social visit. Before he could turn around to make his way back to his car, the front door opened.

And Molly smiled.

“I thought I saw your car down there. Have you had your dinner?”

Mutely he shook his head as he carefully removed his coat and hang his umbrella by the coat rack. Suddenly unsure, he stepped into the kitchen which he had by now familiarized himself with. He took in her figure as she busies herself with reheating back dinner which she had carefully cling wrap at the dining table. She clearly been waiting for him, and he wondered how many times she had waited up for him with dinner. Looking into her face, her soft brown eyes which soften at him, the small smile on her lips; he wondered what does it all means. Slowly he made his way to her, busying himself helping her to set the table.

Later as he sat with his food, Molly with her tea; they chatted about their day. Before leaving that night, his eyes unwittingly fall to her thin lips, and he pondered if she will kiss his cheek again tonight. Before he lost his nerve, he quickly bent down and kiss her cheek. The smile she threw at his was positively luminous as she said her good night.

That night before he went to sleep, he realized that not even once she asked him about Sherlock.

* * *

It was raining when he told her that he would be going away to help Sherlock. Although his words were something along the line of ‘off to pick up an errant puppy. He has been playing too long in the Sun’ she understood him perfectly. He saw how her face falls and worries.

Before he left that night, she grabbed him by his coat bringing him to her as she kissed him. Startled, it took him a few seconds before he returned her kiss. A slight hope in his chest fizzled when he noticed that she was crying.

Perhaps she is regretting the kiss.

He is after all the wrong Holmes brother.

* * *

He was dreading the visit to Molly’s flat that night. It could be very well his last visit to her flat. There will be no longer any warm company for him now Sherlock is back. With a clipped voice, he told her of Sherlock status. He took in how she hunched over her shoulder, her posture defensive, her voice almost sad as she asked him of his future visit.

“Oh. I guess you won’t be coming here again then?”

It had been a long time since he found himself speechless. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you have no more need to see me right?” she answered quickly. Her tone took him by surprise and again he was speechless.

The silent must have been too much for her as she started babbling, her eyes are moist. His heart twists almost painfully in his chest when he heard that she thought that the kiss before he left was nothing more than a pity of his part. Oh, how foolish he must have been. For all the smarts in him, he failed to deduce that she is attracted to him. Remembering how it was him who brought up Sherlock in their every conversation and not her. No, she stopped asking about Sherlock ages ago. She stopped asking about Sherlock and start asking about his day since after his ‘legwork’ holiday. The very same night she started calling him Mycroft.

Oh, how foolish he must be all this while. Her dilated pupils, the mirrored body language, her effort of making herself presentable. All the signs and he closed his eyes on it.

“I’m not you Mycroft. I… I can’t deduce the way you feel by the way you… you hold my hand, or… or the way you smile or… or whatever pollen that my blouse might carry. If only I could look into your mind maybe then I'd find a sign that… that perhaps you might love me and you want me as much as I want you.”

And then she was crying. And he felt small at the face of her tears when she closed her eyes, her face turning away from him, he realized that he might be losing her if he did nothing to correct the misunderstanding. Slowly he breathed out, “Oh Molly”. Taking a few steps towards her, he bent down and kissed her. Her face is small in his hands, the smell of her tears scares him that he forced himself to be careful with her. Slowly he pulled away, his breath on her cheek, his lips lightly brushing hers.

Unbidden, he whispered his confession to her knowing it is true all along. “Of course I love you, Molly Hooper.”

And her smile made his breath caught.

“Oh, Mycroft. Do you think you might marry me? And have a life with me?”

For the third time that night, he was speechless. Looking at her tear-stained face, her bruised lips from his kiss, the slight dusting of blush on her cheeks; he smiled.

“That is highly improper Dr Hooper, asking for a man hand in marriage.”

Her answering grin was something that he will forever remember fondly. “I guess I better said it now. I rather not wait for another two years for all the things you never say.

The next day, he dropped by her flat with a ring in his pocket and roses in hand he never felt happier.

Of course, Sherlock never let it rest that it was Molly who proposed instead of the other way around.


End file.
